June 1832
by Grantairplane
Summary: God had never answered his desperate prayers and pleas for help, but yet he continued. He prayed every day and every night. He prayed for food, for keeping their house. In his dreams, he could see a different life, where he wouldn't have to go to sleep at night knowing that the next day would be as hopeless and miserable as the last. Death was closeHuman AU, Paris 1832 France/Spain
1. Chapter 1

**I recently got involved with the Les Miserables fandom, which was a ...strange experience, but I like it. And suddenly, I realized; I love both Hetalia and Les Mis, so why not write something Les Mis inspired? I could have just written Les Mis fanfiction, but honestly; I haven't quite gotten their personalities right yet, but I will work with it someday.**

**This is not a crossover story, none of the characters are involved in the story(though they might be mentioned/described), it's taking place in Paris around the time of the June rebellion.**

**I feel like I have to warn you that Francis might act like... I don't even know what word to use... He's not that nice, alright? To be fair, he was raised that way. His behaviour obviously does not reflect my opinions, same goes for some things other characters say. It might also contain racism, sexism and a lot of things that isn't socially accepted nowadays, however, homophobia most likely won't be included at all. Mostly because I discovered, while doing research like a great author, that homosexuality was pretty much unheard of. While it was legal, it was pretty frowned upon, but no one talked or thought about it. In fact, you wouldn't even be suspected for it(at least no one would comment on it) if you lived with/had a very close relationship with someone of the same sex, unless you started making out in public or introducing yourselves as lovers. As a result of that, homophobia will likely only exist in Francis' head, and mayybee someone will say something, but it'll be rare. The homophobia in this story will be based upon religion.**

**I also apologize for any incorrect facts about history/the time period/the june rebellion/religion or anything else, I have been trying hard to get it all correct, but it's very difficult!**

**I'll try my best to finish this story, I feel like I've gotten quite far already.**

**Also, please bear with me, my english isn't the best, it's my third language, but I'm working on improving :) I do not have a beta either, so I'd appreciate it if you'd point out any mistakes, so that I can correct them.**

**So, without any more stupid words from me; here's a story about some characters I do not own.**

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** 1832, Paris**

Father blew out the candles, Francis Bonnefoy realized as soon as he pushed the door open. The hall was dark, and Francis, having never cared much for the dark took a step back into his own room. It was safer there, he thought, safer from the... thing. He couldn't see anything scary in the dark, but that was what made it so scary. It could be there, jump at him, kill him… He wouldn't notice until it was too late. Sighing, he sat down on his bed, stroking the silk pillows, while making sure he didn't mess up the bed too much. He hated messy things.

There was absolutely no reason to fear the dark, but he had no reason not to. It made him feel like a little child. When he went outside with his dad, usually in a carriage pulled by horses, he'd see small children who just ran into the shadows between the houses. The children seemed so... fearless, and the houses looked like they were about to fall apart over the them, and Francis would look at them, absolutely terrified that they'd never ever leave the shadows. While he did not exactly like children that much, he definetely did not want to see children die, even though they were peasants.

He never had to face real fear. Not once in his life, had he been scared for his own life. He was scared of the dark and small, stupid insects. Honestly, one of the servants scared him too. The plague was something poor people got, Francis thought, and even if he'd get it, he knew he'd get all of the medication their doctor had. His life was important and valuable, he lived for something. The peasants had nothing to live for, just sitting there day and night, trying to survive without doing anything. That doesn't buy bread does it?

Starvation had never really crossed his mind. Someone like him would never starve. His father once told him that the reason the poor people were poor, and the rich were rich, was that the rich worked, and the poor were lazy. Lazy, Lazy people who allowed their children to starve because they didn't want to work, that's what they were. Starving or stealing? He'd never have to face that decision.

All of these small things absolutely frightened him, but the terrifying lives the peasants lived, were far, far away. It had nothing to do with him, and it was best to keep it that way. That's why he hated leaving their mansion with his father. The streets of Paris were lovely, but he would rather stay as far away from the beggars as possible. Despite being underfed and weak, bony and pale; the peasants were strong and – truth to be told – terrifying. Hearing the stories of the revolution was unavoidable. It was years ago, but Francis knew that it would never be forgotten. He also happened to know that most of the dirty, hollow-cheeked faces he saw through the window of their carriage, probably hated him.

It was quite scary to think of, so he avoided it. It all worked out just fine, didn't it? None of his father's friends had mentioned anything, neither had his father. It was all alright. There was no lack of food or water, not even wine or expensive clothes. Francis knew that his life was perfect, and the starving families didn't mean anything to him. He didn't know them, and he had no wish to. It was better that way.

He only felt bad for the children. The young boys and girls, who would play in the shadows in the dark parts of Paris, were the ones he cared about. However, he did absolutely nothing to help them. It was better that way. It was better to stay away from these dangerous people. He only felt bad because they looked like children, with their big eyes and round faces. They were nothing like the children in their mansion. They looked like them, but they weren't like them. These people were dirt.

He was torn out of his state of deep thought when he heard three knocks on his door. "Who is it?" He asked, quite rudely, but frankly, he did not care right now. He was too tired to speak to anyone.

"Lucie Simone, sir" A feminine voice said. Ms. Simone was a maid, quite a good one actually. She was a good girl too, she was a few years older than Francis – who was twenty four – and had been there as long as he could remember, despite that, he had never heard her raise her voice. "I brought breakfast, and Mr. Bonnefoy requested that you get dressed in nice clothes and meet him downstairs" Ms. Simone put a tray filled with delicious food down on the small wooden table next to his bed, before bowing quickly and excusing herself. Francis was left alone in the room again very fast. The door, he noticed, had been closed. He got up and opened it, peeking out. Someone – probably Ms. Simone – had lit the candles again.

Deciding that the darkness - or lack of it - in the hallway didn't really matter, he sat down again, making sure not to mess up the bed. Messiness was a huge pet peeve of his, he had servants to do his bed and clean up his room, but he'd have to wait until later, and the messy bed offended his eyes. The tray was just sitting there, he frowned at it, when he finished the food and got dressed, his father would be waiting for him downstairs. The only reason Francis could think of for his father to want to talk to him, in nice clothes early a Saturday morning, was that he wanted to present him to another girl.

The girls were great, very cute and well-mannered, but he didn't want to marry any of them. He just couldn't put a finger at what the problem was, but it was there. Maybe he just wasn't ready for marriage. Besides, meeting another girl would mean going somewhere, a fancy restaurant, or maybe her home? That meant he'd most likely have to travel with the carriage, and see the peasants that he desperately did NOT want to associate with, not even look at.

He was distraught and upset, but ate his food quickly enough, not wanting to make his father wait for too long. Francis was well aware that his dad did not like waiting at all. The food was fantastic, just as always, and he decided he should thank Mr. Fontaine for it. Fontaine was the cook. He made most of their food, and he was damn good at it. Francis, who was quite picky when it came to food, was extremely grateful for his work.

The thought of cleaning up the tray and the dishes crossed his mind, but he decided against it, he really had to get dressed; Ms. Simone would take care of it later. He opened his closet and looked through the clothes. Eventually, he decided on a blue jacket with gold embroidery and a silk shirt

It was a simple outfit, in his eyes. He knew he was supposed to dress nicely, and he did, but that didn't mean anything, he always dressed nicely. However, nice didn't mean extraordinarily well-dressed. If he wished to do so, he could look as if he was royalty. Today, he did not feel like it, mostly because he didn't really want to look nice for today's girl. Normally, he loved to flaunt his status and money, but not today. He didn't want the girl to like him, he wanted her to think he wasn't good enough for marriage.

The girl of week three in May was named Alice, his father had said during dinner a few days earlier. He hadn't mentioned the time or place of their meeting. "Soon" He had said. Francis' father said things the way he wanted to. He never explained unless he wished to do so, even if the others did not understand him. Francis liked to think it made his father more interesting and mysterious.

Francis decided not to wear his wig that day. His mother would undoubtedly be disappointed, she always reminded him of how good looking she thought he looked wearing it. He, on the other hand, had never cared for wigs at all, they itched and, honestly, his hair looked better than the flour-caked wig. It was heavy, too.

From experience, Francis knew his mother wouldn't do anything about it. Besides shaking her head and sighing, maybe she would ask him if he forgot, but she would never yell at him. Like Mrs. Simone, Mrs. Bonnefoy was a gentle, calm lady, the kind of lady who always behaved and never raised her voice. Francis was sure she would never hurt any living creature, not even the men who occasionally visited her husband, who Francis knew she strongly despised. Yet, whenever they were there, she would sit there with her hands neatly folded in her lap and listen to every word they said. The act did not fool Francis. He had overheard her in her bedroom, praying for them. Praying for their souls to be saved and for god to forgive them was what she did. After that, Francis had been convinced she was one of the most wonderful people to wander this earth. A pure, forgiving and loving creature, his mother was a pure, forgiving and loving human being.

Francis also happened to know that she had offered one of the cooks help with making food. Unfortunately, he hadn't been the only one to witness that conversation. His father had been furious, and demanded she never tried anything like that again. Mr. Bonnefoy was a firm believer that the workers were below them. In his eyes, they were not worthy of breathing the same air as them, just like the peasants he so strongly disliked. It was a belief he had passed on to his only child, Francis.

Her son would have done the same. For anyone who lived up to his father's standards. Being the romantic he was, he believed in love, friendship and kindness. Francis were always polite and kind, he helped those who needed help. At least if they were on his level, the peasants did not count, he'd been raised to believe.

Sometimes, he'd doubt it. How could these creatures, which looked exactly like him and his people, be less worth than him? How did it make sense? Francis didn't understand, but whenever the thought popped up in his mind, he'd push it back to the far back of his head. He kept on pushing until it was far, far away. He liked to think it'd have to battle a lot of dangers and challenges to come back. It was quite a comforting thought. If he let the doubt win, it'd change his entire world. Nothing would ever be the same. Francis knew that everything he'd ever believed, and everything he'd been told would be different, he'd see everything in a different light. Even if it was for the best, he didn't want to see what could happen. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, together with the doubt, he stored the fear of change. Even if he didn't admit it to anyone, not even him, it terrified him. He was so scared of losing everything he'd ever had, and everything he could get. The thought alone scared him more than spiders and darkness ever could.

The world he lived in right now was a safe one, and he didn't wish to see another one. No matter how much gold and green grass this other world promised, he didn't want anything more than safety. Life was terrifying, and the world was big and awful.

Even if the life he lived was full of lies and delusion, he lived a happy life. And he wanted to stay that way. No one, not even Francis himself, knew that the reason he was so terrified to get closer to the peasants was that they represented the insecurity of his future. They could tear his happy life apart and crush it until there were only pieces left, pieces that could never ever be put together again. The worst of it all, was that they wouldn't do it to be awful or horrible to him, but under the excuse of showing him the truth.

But Francis Bonnefoy didn't want to see the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

He hurried down the steps. The door was left unlocked, why bother? There was only one room, with nothing of any value. If anything could be sold, or used to get bread, he would've done it a long time ago. As soon as his feet hit the ground in front of the stairs, he started running. He could feel his speed increasing. When his feet hit the cobbled ground, it hurt so badly he almost wanted to stop, but he carried on. The piercing pain in his stomach kept him motivated, he couldn't be late, or he'd have to feel this pain for three more days.

His name was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and he needed to get to the baker. Antonio ran until all he could taste was metallic blood, until his legs felt heavy and his lungs felt dry and he couldn't breathe normally anymore. And even after that point, he still ran. If he was late, someone would buy all the bread, or the baker would decide that he could not be trusted, and refuse to give him bread anymore.

Antonio was a thief, every night, he would lay in bed and try to ignore the sickening feeling thinking about it gave him. He could be arrested any moment It was weeks, maybe even months, since he last stole something. All of his life, Antonio had tried to do only what god wanted him to, he had tried to be a good human being, strived to be perfect. Then, his world came crashing down. His mother was fired, and they were destitute.

Being poor, he had always known what it was like to wish for something, the feeling of eating until you were full, however, he had never felt. But this was nothing like anything he had ever experienced, the hunger that never let go of him… it was too much for him to bear. His mother didn't complain, she was furious and Antonio had never seen her that upset before, but she didn't whine or cry. Not even when she'd stay up all night because the stomach cramps kept her awake. She tried everything, she applied for every single job she could find, she begged, cried and prayed, but no one wanted to hire an old lady who did not even speak fluent French.

The frustration, panic and hunger was what made Antonio feel like his only opinion was stealing. If it wasn't for the bread Antonio managed to get, they'd be dead, and the little money he had managed to get from begging and stealing, was the only thing that kept them from being thrown out. Reality was already nearly hopeless; they definitely didn't need more to worry about. Antonio knew that the nights could be freezing, and death was already watching them, he didn't want any more ways to die that he could pray to god about, but not do anything about. No matter what he had to do, he couldn't let the landlord throw them out. It'd be a death sentence. Getting arrested would be a death sentence too, but not for him, for his mother.

God had never answered his desperate prayers and pleas for help, but yet he continued. He prayed every day and every night. He prayed for food, for keeping their house. He prayed for a different life and for the ability to go to sleep at night without having to think of the next day as just another day he'd have to try to survive. But most of all, he prayed for hope, so that he would be able to see a future where he wasn't miserable, cold, hungry and hopeless.

Antonio didn't understand why God didn't listen to him; he was a good human being, he helped people, he was polite to people and he never defied the biblical words. His world was cruel and unjust, but he still smiled, he still tried to please everyone, even when his own life was falling apart. It took so much strength to keep it together, it took so much strength not to just cry and scream. This was nothing like the life he had imagined himself living.

The shoes he wore didn't protect his feet at all, they were full of holes and so old that it was a miracle he could still wear them. It hurt to run, even walk, and his feet were cold, but he bit the inside of his cheek and focused on the biting pain in his stomach.

_ Do you want to feel this for three more days? No? Then hurry up and don't be late! _

Antonio was met by the baker's wife outside of the bakery. "Thank god, I was worried" The baker's wife, Mrs. Maes, exclaimed, upon seeing him. "There are too many things to worry about in this world, eh?" Antonio nodded and Mrs. Maes smiled at him.

"I had… to… run" He said, forcing the words out. The run had left him unable to breathe normally. Mrs. Maes nodded, as if she completely understood it. "I didn't… wanna be late"

"You're a good kid, Antonio" Mrs. Maes smiled brightly and nodded. "Your mom has to proud, oui?" Antonio bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the shame and guilt of his old crimes. Mrs. Maes didn't know that he had stolen; she definitely didn't know he had stolen from her husband's bakery. If she – or her husband or child for that matter – found out… Antonio didn't even want to think about it. He knew the bread-deal would be history, which was one of the worst scenarios he could imagine, together with being thrown out. He also knew that Mrs. Maes and her husband – not to mention Bella – would be upset that the neighbor-boy they had trusted and helped staying alive, was a thief and a liar.

Antonio hadn't even told his own mother of his crimes, and he wasn't intending to do so in the near future, either.

"Bella has been sick, and she really wanted to see you"

"I'm sorry I haven't been here, I have been attempting to get a job" He apologized, and it was true, but no one wanted to hire him. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that they did not trust a poor foreigner. It's probably worth mentioning that most people didn't want to hire a twenty year old peasant.

"Oh! Any luck so far?" Antonio sent her a glance that clearly answered her question and Mrs. Maes sighed and shook her head. "I'm so sorry… at least you have the bread!"

He nodded. "Yes, thank you, I am very grateful; I owe you both me and my mother's lives". She lifted both of her hands and shook her head.

"You deserve it; after all, you've been keeping my dear girl company when she's sick! And you and your mother are great people, both of you!"

Bella Maes was a childhood friend of Antonio. She was a cute girl who always saw the best in people; she was helpful, fun and nice too. Unfortunately, Bella had poor health, and had been spending most of her childhood in bed. Despite that, she was the one who had saved him, not the other way around. It was thanks to Bella, that her parents knew that Antonio and his mother were penniless and slowly starving to didn't take much to guess that they were poor – everyone was! – But they had not been aware of the fact that Mrs. Fernandez had lost her job.

Mr. Maes offered him a deal, he stayed with Bella when they were busy, to make sure she was alright, and they gave him and his mother two loafs of bread a week. Antonio was forever grateful for this, and considered Mr. and Mrs. Maes to be his saving angels.

"I can say the same to Them" He replied, it wasn't a polite standard-reply, but the truth. "It's thanks to Their kindness that I and my mother are living".

She opened the door wider. "Please, enter! I'm sure Bella would love to see you! She has been sleeping a lot, but she's awake now, and just seeing you would cheer her up" Mrs. Maes seemed certain that Antonio was that important to her daughter, and that warmed his heart. "Her… sickness is really wearing her out; she sure needs a smile, eh?"

Antonio nodded and smiled, he really cared for Bella, and if he could do anything to help her, he would do it without hesitating. "Seeing her would be great for me too!"

The room was dark, only lit up by a small window across from the door. The light from the window shone down on a bed, a bed containing a teenage girl. Antonio's heart sank when he saw her face.

Her cheeks were hollow and her skin was pale, her breaths were short and rushed. The old Bella was nowhere to be found. In her place, a young girl who could easily be mistaken for years younger; a girl who seemed close to death was lying there. He sat down on the edge of her bed, right next to her sleeping frame, making sure not to wake her up; she needed sleep, for sure.

After a long time of sitting in silence, praying in his mind for her life, she moved a little. It startled Antonio, who nearly fell out of the bed. She blinked a few times and then she smiled weakly. "Tonio… You worried me".

"I'm the one who should be worried, aren't I?" He laughed. "You look as if you're dying!"

Bella smiled. "Ah, yeah, yeah, I'm better now!" Even though she had missed him greatly, she was glad he hadn't been there when she was on her worst, worrying him was the last thing she wanted. "Sleeping helped, I'm sure the fact you're here now did something too!" She giggled and Antonio could see his dear Bella shine through the weak body of hers.

"I'm glad!"

"I'm glad too, my parents almost called the priest"

He cleared his throat. "Ah, well you can't blame them; you really looked awful when you were sleeping".

"I suppose I did" She agreed. "I bet you're happy you didn't see me at my worst, eh?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Si!" He said, despite the fact that Bella didn't speak Spanish. She seemed quite interested in the language and just Spain in general.

"Si, Si, Si" She repeated and smiled weakly "Please, let me go to Spain with you someday"

Seeing no use in refusing to do so, especially not when she was sick, he agreed. "If I ever go back, I'll take you with me"

Antonio considered himself to be no less French than Spanish. French was his preferred language to speak, not because he did not like Spanish, or that he couldn't speak it. He had just always thought French was more beautiful. Of course, he loved Spain, and he spoke Spanish with his mother, but France was his home. All of his childhood memories were from France. Spain was far, far away, many years away, many miles too.

No matter how much Spanish he spoke, and how much he talked about Spain, his heart belonged to France. Even if he moved to Spain when he grew older, all of his memories would be from Paris.

It was still warm and sunny when he left Maer's. Quite a large crowd had gathered there, in the small, unimportant part of Paris. A small glance and he knew that they were all poor people and beggars, he recognized some of them.

He saw their dirty, damaged clothes and their starved bodies. He saw their faces, the faces that begged for help and to be released from their suffering. He saw their eyes, the ones that had seen death, misery and plague.

In that moment, he realised that he was no different from them.

**I'm in Spain now! I haven't had a lot of time to write, but I'm working on it. Hopefully, the next chapter will be out soon. **

**AAAND, someone reviewed, I'm happy you took the time and I really appreciate it!**


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